How to Die in Middleearth
by Nienna Telrunya
Summary: A collection of short stories. In each part there are three stories wherein the main character dies. Just a little irony to start your day. No canon deaths.
1. Chapter 1

How to Die in Middle-earth

A collection of short stories - part 1

Rating: PG-ish, because the main character always dies. That's the point, really. 

**Rusty****-- and why getting everything you want isn't always what you want.**

Rusty always got everything she wanted. Her read name wasn't actually "Rusty," of course. It was Clarintine. But the brat didn't really like that name, so she would change it periodically. It was unlikely that there was any name in the world Rusty had yet to use at one time or another. But woe to those who called her by a name she had discarded. Rusty would throw a tantrum and order him out. And she always got everything she wanted.

After a particularly pleasurable pout, on rainy afternoon, Rusty sat staring at the ceiling. "Entertain me!" she ordered it. The ceiling, being very intelligent and magical as ceilings go, immediately obeyed the girl's command and transported her to Middle-earth. That, at least, was sure to be . . . interesting.

Rusty looked around her in confusion. She was standing in a very strange place: where were all the buildings? The McDonalds and such? Oh! Of course! She could explore. That would be entertaining. The ceiling must have obeyed her. Rusty never had any doubts about that. She always got what she wanted.

Suddenly, from the tress at her right, Rusty heard the clear call of a horn. "Heralding my arrival, of course," she said importantly to herself. "Sure took them long enough. I've been here almost two minutes! What rude people." The girl took of in a manner she must have thought looked proud and stately. It may have . . . if she had been a leading scientist in the studies of adrenaline-pumped penguin movement. Sadly, she was not.

Rushing into a slight clearing with some kind of architecture ("Humph! They should have cleaned it more! Even if they didn't know I was coming!" ) Rusty saw several figures in front of her. "Legolas!" she exclaimed, hopping over dead Uruk-hai bodies. "Kiss me!" Turning around in surprise that he could have missed a single foul beast, Legolas obeyed Rusty's last command. His arrow kissed her heart a second later. After all, Rusty always got everything she wanted. __________________________________________________________________________

.-=.-=.-=.-=

**The First and Last Orc Turned Good****-- and the real reason I don't like bad speeches.**

Niin was a bright orc, as his people went, but a terrible judge of orkish nature. He was convinced that converting Sauron and his troops to an idealism of kindness and mercy could be achieved by talking to them in a compassionate manner. That, and giving a speech about the evils of . . . well . . . evil.

So one day, Niin approached his master, Sauron, and requested permission to speak to the troops. Sauron, being an eye and not having very good hearing (his ears were elsewhere) agreed, thinking a pep talk could to them some good. Well, good in an evil sort of way.

Niin went away happily, thinking that if his short request had been so in favor with Sauron, talking would surely work elsewhere. Climbing to a high place, and taking out a sort of Middle-earth version of a megaphone (magical, that is) Niin began his speech.

"Dear people!" he exclaimed. "Fellow orcs and men! It has come to my attention that of late our peoples have become vicious and uncaring. We have neglected our duty of kindness towards our peers! This must stop!"

And stop it did. Or, at least, his speech did, as he was mobbed by thousands of very murderous and very well armed orcs.

Sauron thought it was the best pep talk he had ever heard. It had certainly gotten his troops aroused. Maybe he could get another one organized for next year. __________________________________________________________________________

.-=.-=.-=.-=

**Why It's a Good Idea to Know that English and Westron are NOT In Fact the Same Language -- and how you can suffer from lack of that knowledge.****  
**  
"No, really!" Albert said, putting away his math homework for another day. "I've found a passageway to Middle-earth!"

"Oh stuff it," his best friend, Ron said. "You know as well as I do that's one of the poorest yarns you've spun for years. There's no such thing as Middle-earth. It's a fairy tale. Duh."

"I'm serious!" Albert exclaimed, almost pleadingly. "I'll show you, just come with me!" Sighing the long-suffering sigh of one who has known Albert for way too long, Ron followed him to the former's garage. "Oh, yeah. Ha, ha. So you haven't cleaned it yet -- I'm not helping, imaginary portal or no."

Albert shook his head, and showed his friend a little hole in the wall. "It goes to Middle-earth," he said, look, you can crawl through!"

"You go first," Ron answered, quickly adapting to the idea that maybe -- just maybe! -- it could be real. But if it was, it was better if it were Albert who went through first. Who knew what dangers there could be?

Excitedly, Albert scrambled through, the hole in the wall closing behind him. Ron stared at it for a moment the blank spot in the garage for a moment, then shrugged. Typical-- Albert was always leaving him behind.

As for Albert, he emerged into thin air right above the Battle of Helm's deep, near Aragorn. He fell rapidly down towards the Uruks, but Aragorn, seeing Albert was in danger, grabbed his hand to keep him from falling to his doom some five hundred feet below. "Friend or Foe?" Aragorn called to him in Westron.

Albert stared at him for a moment, not understanding, and then began to rapidly explain his situation. But to Aragorn, it was a strange language, and probably one of the enemies. In any case, he had to fight, and this boy was holding him up. Letting go of Albert to his death by falling below, Aragorn went back to the fight, to quickly forget the strange boy being trampled by Uruks. After all, it was war, and no place for (live) children jabbering in strange languages.


	2. Chapter 2

How to Die in Middle-earth

A collection of short stories -- part 2

**The Most Beautifullistificallenth Girl Ever -- or, why it is a bad idea to insult Galadriel in front of Gimli.****  
**  
Daliehendra, the incredibly "beautiful" and "talented" half-elf, half-pixie with parenting problems and the downsides of each race, was "the most Beautifullist princess in the Hole Word." Daliehendra was extrodinarily proud of this fact -- and perhaps not very aware that having a misspelled title is not a compliment. Oh, and that "beautifullist" wasn't even a word, if you asked anyone above about four years of age.

Poor, misinformed Daliehendra (or "Dalihenranessishenath," as she liked to call herself) had spent the last few decades "beautifullistifying" herself in front of the most "clearfullish and sparklingistuth" portrait of her rather lovely mother. Alas, she believed it was a mirror. Daliehendra wasn't very bright. She was, however, exceedingly vain.

To show off that "perfectfully" honed vanited, Dalihendra decided one day to visit a random location out of her randomly-placed-and-non-existant-home- in-Middle-earth.

She stepped out in front of Gimli.

"Lookith, oh ugly-dwarfy-thing-whoth-doth-noth-deservith-toith-standith- inith-mine-presence . . .ith!" exclaimed, dragging exclamation points behind her. "I am the most beautifullistith creature in the Hole Word! Choppith offith my headith, good sir, if thouth believeth mine noth!"

Gimli took one look at the Galadriel-insulting vain child, and did as she told him: her head would lay there forever more. 

**Why it is a BAD Idea to Try and Heal Frodo by Taking His Wounds Upon Yourself In Rivendell After the Wraith Stab -- also known as: "A superfluously long title."**

Mithalion, an elf of Rivendell, entered one of the siderooms late one fall day. It was empty, save for two rather short people -- about half the size of himself.

Mithalion had a kind heart, and soon saw that the hobbit laying on the bed was injuring, and the one by his side weeping. He stepped closer, so that the younger one looked up at him quizzically, and asked what he was doing there.

"I can save your friend," the elf said simply, and knelt by the prostrate hobbit -- Frodo Baggins. Mithalion laid his hands upon Frodo and took the evilness of the hobbit's wounds upon himself. But it was not enough. There was too much bad in that dagger stab.

At that moment, Elrond re-entered the room and saw Mithalion there. Knowing the younger elf was empathetic but clumbsy, Elrond ordered him out, and began again to work upon the hobbit himself.

But Mithalion could not stay away for long, and as soon as Elrond had gone, he snuck back in the room to submerse himself into Frodo's mind . . . but he was not strong enough, and sunk into shadow himself, and then into death forever.

For long years later, the shadow of Mithalion's corpse watched everthing that came to pass in that room: the healing of Frodo and other guests, the passing of the sun and the moon. Things he could never have or do again, because he tried something impossible one day long ago.

.-=.-=.-=.-=

**Why NOT to Challange a Ranger to A Duel -- or, yet another really stupid thing to do.**

Radare was a typical Mary-sue human who had survived being dropped from the sky for the sole purpose of making the entire Fellowship of the Ring fall in love with her perfectness.

Dazzling the entire company with her beauty and sparkling, bright teeth (well, blinding would be closer, but the other word was more flattering) Radare asked to join the Company.

They said no.

Radare, hearing something that no doubt came from her own mind, repeated it into the air: "A mere girl? You sexist pig!" she was very talented at employing painful punctuation in conjunction with . . . odd . . . clichés from our own world. "I challenge not Sexist!Boromir-who-I-am-pretending- said-that-to-make-me-great to a duel, but you, Strider!" she drew her shimmering blue-green-purple colored sword. It was hard to look straight at. Radare rushed straight at him . . .

But one question still mystified the readers: Didn't she know by now Aragorn's real name? No time for that now . . .

"A Duel?" Aragorn asked, confused by this strange challenge from a girl who had fallen from the sky . . . and survived. He drew his sword just the same. Legolas, with the lightning speed of an elf, shot an arrow through the air and Radare's throat. Any enemy of Aragorn was an enemy of all of them. How dare she attack the future king!


	3. Chapter 3

How to Die in Middle-earth

A collection of short stories -- part 4

**Look at the Beautiful Snow! -- or, why building snowmen on Caradhras is really, really stupid.**

"Baba," Sari laughed, placing to slices of tater (stolen from Sam Gamgee a month earlier -- they were finally properly black) just above the protruding carrot. "You are mine. come alive! I command you!"

The little girl stepped back to have a better look at Baba the snowman. "Why don't you play with me?"

Baba just stood there, potato eyes staring straight ahead without expression or understanding. Had the snowman been alive, he might have answered "What, with you? Look at my proportions! I'm a mutant! Aaaah!" and run away as only an emotional personification called "Baba" could.

But he was not, in fact, able to do any of those things, much to Sari's disappointment. Anyway, she was getting cold.

Pulling an extra pair of mittens over her numb fingers, Sari sat back against her snowman, and began to sing.

"Snow little mountain, it's winter time,

My snowman's dead, and I really cold

But snow'll make it great, just don't make me mime

it, please snow!"

And then Sari fell asleep in the freezing air against Baba. It began to snow.*

.-=.-=.-=.-=

_____________________________________________________________________

**Yet another Mary-sue -- or, "Splat."**

Flammariacontaria (Ria for short) was a sky-fairy. Every day and night, she would rest her delicate body against the clouds, looking down on the wonderful world of Middle-earth. She especially watched the elves -- and one blond haired one called Greenleaf. Alas, Ria believed his full name was 'Legolas Greenleaf' instead of the second word being just a translation.

In any case, Ria found herself falling in love with the "Spiffy" elf, and decided one fine day (she had made it fine with her 'Sue powers) that it was time to make herself known to her love.

"Oh, Legolas!" she called down from the clouds. Her silvery voice floated down to where Legolas saw it, and wondered very much how sound could personify itself. Just as he stepped forward for a closer look (while drawing an arrow) the thing popped, spreading silver invis-goo everywhere. It smelled like raspberries in the late autumn. (Basically, rotten and bug eaten, but sky-fairies don't know much about berries.)

Legolas looked up into the sky, and could just make out a figure there -- though he did not know what it was. Ria decided to take things into her own hands.

Stepping off her cloud, Ria floated down gently at first. But gravity, refusing to be outdone by a Mary-sue, spread her up so that when she reached the ground (velocity of a really high number) the only sound her "dear Legolas" ever heard from her was "Splat." ____________________________________________________________________ 

.-=.-=.-=.-=

**Really Hot Volcanoes -- or, "pun intended." **

In different versions of the Return of the King, we must ask ourselves: what was the maker thinking? I know it was 1979 (or something) but really . . . having Frodo hide from Sam with the Ring on the top of Mount Doom for several days? Wouldn't he starve?

Gloria, fan fiction writer galore, didn't think so. She loooooved that animated version of the movie (note: she didn't 'love' it, because Gloria -- or, perhaps, Gloooooria -- had a thing for 'o's.) and decided to write a little story based on it.

That day she wrote, unknowing that her type-writer made everything she put on it come true. When Frodooooo and Sam goooot tooooo the tooooop of the big firey mooooountain (which was really handsoooome, as voooooolcanoooooes go) they met a beautiful girl whoooo was in trouble-- she had been hanging by her feet ooooover Mr. Doooooom for days without fooooood or water! She had the mooooost wooooonderful name: Glooooria.

The next day, a man called "Mr. Doom" obliged Gloria, and gave her her due over Mt. Doom.

When Frodo and Sam got there, they had to hold their noses. The stench really was quite awful. But somehow . . . somehow, they knew the dead girl's name was 'Gloria', only with too many 'o's.

*Note: even the innocent die on evil mountains. It happens. This is Middle- earth.

I had all girls this time -- sorry. These things happen. (Ooooo dear.)


	4. Chapter 4

How to Die in Middle-earth

A collection of short stories -- part 5

The Boys

**An Innocent Abroad -- or, "The Language Man."**

Cody was relatively intelligent. That is to say, he was completely average at everything save languages. Everyone said he would have an excellent and very fulfilling future as a translator for organizations such as the United Nations. He was that good.

The truth was, at the age of forty, Cody had just discovered his skill, being unable to afford education when younger. And now, just two years later, the man had already learned two dozen languages. He was a genius at it, there was no doubt. Cody could spend as little as a week or two immersed in a language before he learned it . . . it always took longer when there was someone around to help, which explained why it had taken him much longer than most boys to learn his home tongue.

In his spare time, Cody would do the only things he knew how to: explore, learn new languages, and tinker. During the nights, Cody had a part-time job working for a car-maintenance store, at least until he was officially tested for the translators' board. It wasn't much, but it was his life.

Cody had not visited many places in the few decades he had been alive, so when an opportunity for him to take a hot air balloon arrived, he took it almost without question! Alas, he should have asked: will I live to see my home again?

Two tornadoes, a rainbow, 100 million munchkins with painfully high voices as painfully (for one's neck) low statures, Cody came to Middle-earth where he was quickly recognized as having a skill for languages, very odd trinkets and a knowledge about the future by one of the least friendly people around . . . Saruman.

Oh, the wizard used him for a time, but not long. After he had learned all he would, he 'took care of' Cody. After all, one couldn't have the man running off to talk to the elves!

But the magic of Middle-earth does strange things to people, and not so far off, in a land called "The Shire" a young lad of 7 suddenly developed a wonderful knack for languages. Maybe he would see the home the other had unwittingly left behind. 

******Stand up for what you believe it -- or not - A.K.A. "Women's rights to the absurd."****  
**  
Marty-Sam style.

Marty-Sam brushed back his wavy blond hair. In the past it had been described with such adjectives as "hott," "cool," "sweet," and, by this author: "lukewarm with a spicy tinge of ginger . . . but in a very misspelled way." One would imagine that all those temperature alterations would cause a bit of brain damage, but . . . well, maybe they already had. Never mind.

In any case, Marty strode into the private Council of Elrond with Marty-Sam pride, an arrogantly confident air, wavy hair, and a (five-time) award- winning smile. "I have come!" he announced, interrupting a rather put-out Elrond in mid-sentence. It was a nice effect, Marty though -- having him all stare like that at him. How glorious to have so many admirers.

"I know why all of you are here, and how to destroy the Rings!" As one might have predicted, this proclamation was followed by a short silence and some worried whispers throughout the group. Each elf, half-elf, wizard, dwarf, man, hobbit, snake, vampire, fly, flea, maggot, tapeworm, bee, atom and quark tensed, ready to fight this unwelcome visitor. . . . whether or not they actually resided in that universe. But all of their thoughts were approximately the same: "Who is this crazy guy?" Only with differing dialects.

Happily absorbing the attention given him, Marty continued: "I also know of your great sin; you have no women in the Fellowship!" (Which had already been formed, thanks to a plot hole.) "So I have brought you a wrench to complete your Fellowship of ten! Or you can leave Legolas out if you like, he's trying to beat me out on the 'who-has-the-most-fangirls' list. My point is, this weak little lady will prove your worth to you! No more suppression! No more chauvinism! No more sanity!"

Marty-Sam winked down at Éowyn, who had suddenly appeared behind him, gagged and bound. Without any assistance, or becoming untied, the warrior quickly disposed of the . . . nuisance. Elrond was so pleased that he didn't even make Éowyn clean up her . . . mess . . . afterwards. He just got her back home as quickly as possible. 

.-=.-=.-=.-= 

**How to Make an Evil Ring - or, "Ruling the World for -- Dummies."**

Talk-show style.

Host: Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, ghouls and goblins, evil-doers off all kinds -- beginners and experts! Welcome to this mid-night's episode of "Ruling the World -- for Dummies." Tonight we have a special guest all the way from Middle-earth! Let's show our appreciation for . . . Sauron! Hello, Sauron. We're told you have a rather, ah, *unique* way of taking over the world. Why don't you tell us about it?

Sauron: Well, thanks, it's an honor to be on the show. How did I try to take over the world? Some five hundred plus years ago, I decided it was time for me to be in charge. It was easy, really; I just made "friends" with the elves, then betrayed them. Host: Is it true you made a bracelet to do this with?

Sauron: No! Fool! I made a Ring of pure gold, like the lesser Rings of Power. But into this one, I poured my strength and evilness.

[Sauron takes a puff on an enormous dynamite stick that says "Cigarettes kill" then throws it into the audience where it explodes. Laughter.]

I love Disney, it's almost as sadistic as I am!

[Cheers.]

Host: Thank you for that wonderful demonstration of evilness. Do you mind telling us a little more about this Ring now?

Sauron: Not at all. It all started back at the top of Mount Doom . . .

[The televisions behind the Host and Sauron switch from evil-looking faces to ariel pictures of said volcano. "Ooh's" and "Aah's" are heard from the audience.]

Hey, Nazgûl #6 did a good job on those pictures . . . in an evil sort of way, of course.

Host: Yeah, nice special effects.

[The Nazgûl exchange high-fives, and #6 blushes.]

Sauron: In the fiery furnaces of that ferocious mountain of fury I wrought the Ring. In it, I inscribed the figures that you see before you.

[Televisions switch to the One Ring inscription.]

It reads: Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakutulûk, ash burzem-ishi krimpatul. In the common tongue, that means: "This is a really evil Ring, so bow down and obey me.? It's not very poetic, but poetry is out-dated in the world of evil.

[Audience member - especially the beginners - quickly scribble down this new information for future reference.]

Host: That sounds like a wonderful idea -- what ever could have gone wrong?

Sauron: That's exactly what I thought. Then this little _Hobbit_ came along and destroyed my Ring!

Host: Talk about a major set back! Well, folks, that's all the time we have for tonight. Come back next week for "If you look like a snake and you talk like a snake . . ." with Lord Voldemort. And remember: "To err is human, to make it blow up in their faces at the most embarrassing moments is our job." Happy evilness! 


	5. Chapter 5

How to Die in Middle-earth

A Collection of Short Stories – Part 6

Disclaimer: It's not my fault, I swear. I didn't invent anything Tolkien or some other person invented. Please don't sue me. (Or Mary-sue me, which is worse.)

**The Sea**

You may all be familiar with the old "Elves are obsessed with the Sea" thing. Well, let me tell you this: it's true. But have you ever heard what happens to those elves who weren't very good sailors?

The first was an elf named Mr. Elf (he subscribed to the New York Times), and he decided to build a boat. Out of old tradition, he named it the Titanic. It's interesting how quickly icebergs can form in Middle-earth.

The second was called Noah, and he felt a calling to build an ark. Sadly, Noah did not realize the difference between a calling and a Calling (mainly the capital 'C'), and therefore spent many long years trying to haul an ark from Rivendell, where it had been assembled, to the Sea. Needless to say, by the time he had actually gotten it there (after thousands of years), all the other Elves had already left and hobbits and dwarves were so scarce they didn't really exist anymore. The media, however, was overjoyed at finding an ark with a bottom in very bad shape, near the sea shore. Incidentally, they may have read into the whole thing incorrectly.

The third was a Mary-Sue by the name of X. She was far too cool to have more than one name, one syllable or zero brain. Sadly (ha, yeah, right), this Mary-sue decided that Middle-earth was flat and she wanted to go and look at the edge. This would have been very foolish on a truly flat world, as she surely would have died, but on Middle-earth it was doubly so, because Here Be There So Many Monsters That You Won't Possibly Live Long Enough To See If The World Is Flat Or Round, And Who Cares Anyway?

.-=.-=.-=.-=

**Mustard**

Joe Porkus was not an Average American. It is the opinion of much of the world that Americans tend to be fat and really love McDonald's. This is not true. Leastwise, their spicy chicken sandwiches are good, and their salads, although overpriced, aren't bad. But those things they call burgers are much too thin and dry and they insist on smothering everything in the most abhorrent substances. I speak, of course, of ketchup and mustard, with the occasional dash of sour cream.

Although, in all truth, even those are better than the Pickles of Doom.

What all this nonsense is leading up to is the fact that Joe Porkus was actually one of the few Americans who adored Micky D's, and would probably have sued them for making him so fat, except for the fact that he was now too heavy to ever leave the sofa.

This left Joe Porkus with a great problem. No, not his weight: his bulk meant that he could not get to a McDonald's (which, it should be mentioned, despite it's love for mustard at least has decent fries, where as Burger (ah ha, Booger) King's fries are terribly limp and soggy and never have the right amount of salt). So Joe had to, of course, buy his own McDonald's and set it up inside his house. Unfortunately, Joe, who had never worked in his life, was living with his poverty-stricken sister who struggled to maintain his food habits as they were. She constantly felt like she was going mad under the pressure of spending several hundred dollars a day on Joe.

When Joe made this new investment with money she didn't have, he went over the top, and his sister cursed him.

By strange and rare coincidence, this curse bouncing inside a parallel-universe-quantum-foam worm-hole thingy and somehow, in a scientifically magic manner, sent her brother and his McDonald's to Middle-earth, where they landed high in Lothlorien, on one of the trees.

Not-so-sadly, the poor tree couldn't stand the weight of Joe (comparatively, the McDonald's was not very heavy) and collapsed, killing him. Later, when the Elves came to investigate, they wondered how a mutated Oliphant (for what else could such a massive beast be?) had managed to fall from the sky, or otherwise ascend one of their beautiful trees.

Later, they had a period of mourning. For the tree.

.-=.-=.-=.-=

**Flitter**

Flit flit, flit flit. A butterfly flew over the Old Forest.

Flit flit. The tongue of a hungry lizard flicked out and consumed the butterfly.

Yum, it thought, and scuttled down the trunk of the tree.


	6. Chapter 6

How To Die in Middle-earth  
A Collection of Short Stories – part 7

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that Tolkien or Hans Christian Anderson own. They were great men, are dead men, and I am not them.  
------------------------------------

Guy Mann and the Very Bright Armor

Guy Mann was an Extra. It was his official role in the upcoming battle: rush in at the side of Aragorn, looking all heroic. He had buffed up his armor for the event specially. He had, in fact, buffed it up so thoroughly that it was the opinion of many of his comrades-in-arms that if it found himself, for some reason, unable to fight, then at least he could blind the enemies and pull a Gandalf.

Interestingly enough, this is more-or-less what happened. On the day of the historic battle, Guy Mann had just finished rubbing his gleaming armor (and wishing for a mirror to show himself off in) when he heard a trumpet sound. "Oh, no," though Guy. "I'm going to be late. I'd better hurry." And he set off at a great speed, rushing to Aragorn's side.

Incidentally, he had not actually have time to put on his armor before doing so, and was very nearly impaled very early on with an arrow, before actually having the chance to rush in at the side of Aragorn. He therefore had to run back and get suited up, missing his big moment.

And it was a good thing he did: later in the battle, the armor reflected the sun so brilliantly in the face of the enemy that nearly twenty orcs burst into flame and made Guy his very own funeral pyre. Thus ends the shiny man.

..0

The Ugly Orcling

It was lovely summer weather in some country, with golden corn and green oats, and insect-infested haystacks that made the fields look beautiful until you got to close. In that country, there were storks speaking in Egyptian, and sunny spots, and old farms, and all that sort of thing. The country where the ugly orcling was born, however, did not have any of these things, and it therefore got a strange look when it cried"Peep, peep." Not, of course, that anyone was expecting it to quack at such an early age (or ever), but "Peep" is a very odd thing for an orc to say. Still, it was so unusually large and ugly that they immediately promoted it a rank. Even orc armies work like this.

Now, this orcling, whom, for the sake of the story, we shall call Mr. Ugly Duck, was soon discontented with his way of life. Discontentment made him very mean, so that all the other orcs quailed (pun definitely intended) at the very sight of him. "They are afraid of me because I am ugly," he said to himself once in a while, to cheer himself up. Strangely, this sentiment seldom seemed to help.

Being ugly, however, did have an advantage: no one even tried to kill him because he was so ugly. All the foul things of Middle-earth passed over him, and did not harm him. Still, Mr. Ugly Duck was discontent, so he went and found a plastic surgeon who would work late (or for several months on end, as was the case with this exceptionally ugly orc), and got a face job done, so that when he returned, he could have won Miss Middle-earth, except he was male, and therefore not a 'Miss.'

For a while, Mr. Ugly Duck was very content with his new look. Soon, however, he stopped being content, for no one was afraid of him anymore! The other orcs attacked him, the evil beasts tried to eat him, and Sauron's laser eye kept staying at him in utter disbelief.

In the end, horrified and tearful at what beauty had done to him, he crawled, weeping, to the plastic surgeon, to beg for his old, bad looks to be returned. The surgeon, being horrified at Mr. Ugly Duck's sudden appearance, cured his client with a single blow of a curling iron.

And so ended the very ugly orcling.

..0

A Writer's Paradise

Leanne Loona Laquaski was a writer, and very proud of it. She was so proud of it, that she always carried a laptop computer, five notebooks, three dictaphones (or digital voice recorders, as she would say primly), a cell phone, and all her published works with her, thus nearly doubling her slim 110 pound frame.

As a writer, Leanne Loona Laquaski was always looking for new places to write, so she was absolutely thrilled when she came across Mirkwood. "Wonderful!" she said, and then, remembering that she was a Famous Writer, added, "What a mischievously quaint woodland!"

Positively skipping into the forest, she went in search of a good place to write. After quite a lot of walking, she found it on a rock, tipped precariously over a stream. This was the sort of romantic setting that writers love.

Perched on the rock, Leanne Loona Laquaski realized too late that all her packaging had made her rather top-heavy, and she tipped off the stone, crumbling it in her wake, and landed in the water, where she quickly fell into a deep slumber and drowned, saving us all from what promised to be yet another really awful book.

_Please don't forget to review! I value your feedback, suggestions, hate mail (okay, not so much that one), and compliments. They are what I write for._


	7. Chapter 7

**Barrow Wights, and why Tom Bombadil's name should never be rhymed with incorrectly**

Pansy, a random hobbit lass from a random part of the Shire, was lost. And in the Old Forest, that was a _Bad_ thing. In some respects, she had been extremely lucky: no foul creatures or singing trees had caught her attention; she was too lost for even that. After all, singing trees were a very obvious land-mark.

So, as you may imagine, it was to the great relief of Pansy when she stumbled across a root and found a "helping" hand steady her. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Hello!"

The young hobbit never knew what hit her. (Aside from a weighty cliché and weighter pun, that is.) Several hours later, she awoke to the sound of a strange -- and rather unpleasant -- song.

And NOT the one of a tree.

Despite the fact that Pansy didn't pay much attention to it, as she was staring rather more steadily at the sword creeping up to her, she did notice several words such as "cold," "bone," and "death."

How she had been revived in her state of mind, Pansy didn't know, but she did recall the old legend of a certain Tom Bombadil. There was a song -- you called him by a song!

But all Pansy knew was the song of the tree. Oh, well, she'd best twist something herself.

"Come tom bombadil to my aid,  
I have a problem that's needing some . . . um . . . aid,  
I'm in a Wight's home, not right nor good,  
So come here and save me, if you would."

All in all, the poem wasn't _too_ bad . . . but Bombadil had a very keen ear, as one does in his situation. And he recognized that not only had Pansy tried to rhyme aid with aid, but she hadn't capitilized his name.

So Bombadil left Pansy to the Wights . . . and the sword still creeping up to her by means of a pale, foul arm.

. -. -. -. -. -

**Balrogs -- hot, flaming balls of death comin' your way.**

Ulminienëmítöbõi, the girl of an unpronounceable name, also happened to be the infamous tenth-member of the Fellowship. Something that made Elrond VERY unhappy. Especially since he had to send Pippin along behind the rest as "not an official member, just a tag-along, like Bill the Pony" to make the logical number nine.

Pippin wasn't too happy about it either.

By the time the Fellowship, including Ulminienëmítöbõi, reached the Bridge of Khazad-dum (only two days after they had started, thanks to the author's plot holes) the whole lot of them were more than a little tired of Ulminienëmítöbõi thinking she knew and was everything great.

It was Gandalf who first had the idea. In the books and movie, it is shown that Gandalf very nearly got lost in Moria; this is not true. The truth is, that so tired with the Company of their rag-tag-tag-along Mary-Sue, that they had finally figured out how to get rid of her. Gandalf wasn't lost -- he was seeking out his old friend, The Balrog (also called TB by his friends).

"TB," Gandalf had said, upon meeting his friend. "I have a problem."

"Another 'Sue?" TB rumbled as only a Balrog can. "Sure, just let me handle it!"

Thus it was that upon the Bridge, Gandalf said: "Ulminien-- however-you-pronounce-your name! Go forth and defeat the Balrog for us!"

Just how few seconds elapsed before Ulminienëmítöbõi was dead could be debated. Pippin, who had long since nicked a stop-watch from the 'Sue said it was about .5/100 of a second. You can decide for yourself how long you think it took. Personally, I think Pippin was being a bit generous. After all, even a Balrog can only eat so quickly.

. -. -. -. -. -

**Ents, and why chopping down trees in Fangorn is a BAD idea.**

There once was an Uruk called Kishtraum,  
Who, for Saruman, went to chop an evil-baum,  
Then he met an Ent,  
And by his neck he was bent,  
So now all the others call him dead-mon.

There once was a bad 'Sue called Trent  
Who, when thirteen, to Middle-earth went  
She set fire to  
A tree named "Hue"  
Then the rest of her days were all spent.

Pippin Took was a hobbit true,  
Much braver than me or than you,  
He did show respect  
When the Ents he met  
And survived -- now there's something new!


	8. Chapter 8

Woe Is She

"Oh, woe is me, woe is me!" Rachel cried, slapping one hand over her heart. "My life is like a country western song! My husband has left me and my son is dead and I'm in jail and my insurance company doesn't cover arson!"

"Would you just shut up?" her cellmate demanded, rolling over to glare. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

"But this is tragedy! This is the romantic notionry of an endangered heart scorned and broken by love! This is –"

"Two o'clock in the morning." The cellmate, who had been charged with murder – but had really only effected the disappearance of two people with the same technique which she was about to use on Rachel – blew softly over the palm of her left hand. Rachel disappeared in a swirl of wind . . .

. . . and reappeared in Middle-earth in a barren land surrounded by orcs.

"Oh, good and noble sirs, what tragedy awaits us all, but what triumph can come in our hour of need . . . oh ugly sirs, who --- agggh!"

The orc leader tasted the blood on his blade thoughtfully and spit it out. Disgustingly sweet and sappy with an overblown dramatic tang.

Happy Dancing Man

Here is Happy Dancing Man, see him do a jig;

Here is Happy Dancing Man, see him crack a twig

He falls down but doesn't land

Where he was, but in the sand

In the sand that's by the sea

Dancing Man, where could he be?

Happy Dancing Man turned slowly around. There was nothing there. A ship far in the distance, sand and forests all around, no civilization to be found.

Happy Dancing Man shuffled through the sand and lifted his feet and sang a song . . . but not for long.

Everybody has to eat.

Beauty and the Uruk

"Foul beast," Beauty said, "I have come to work for you that you may fall in love with me and become a handsome prince!"

The Uruk took one look and cut her head off.

Lend a Hand

Once upon a time, a maiden of uncommon loveliness, a beautiful singing voice, and a unlikely career in ninjahood, eavesdropped on the Fellowship while randomly walking through Moria.

"Excuse me," she said, stepping out of the shadows into slightly lighter shadows, "It seems like you could use a hand. I could lend one, if you like."

Gimli looked to Boromir who looked to Aragorn who looked to Gandalf who calmly accepted her offer by cutting off her hand. "It shall be returned when our purpose is finished," he promised. But alas, ninja maiden bled to death long before that and the Balrog ate her hand.

Oh, well.

Midge

Blood, blood, swamp, air currents. Mmm, warm hobbit flesh. Bite. Suck. Delicious.

SLAP


	9. Chapter 9

How To Die in Middle-earth

A Collection of Short Stories – Part 9

Disclaimer: All that you recognize as Tolkien's belongs to the Professor himself and his Estate. The rest is mine.

. - . - . - .

**Sufficient Cover**

Beli son of Beolin moaned. Just _what_ had he been drinking the night before? That was like no ale _he_ had ever taste. He _knew_ he should have refused. But what was a dwarf to do? He had his honor to uphold.

Ugh. It felt like his head had been smashed between hammer and anvil.

Beli opened his eyes and moaned again as the sunlight assaulted them. He clutched at his helmet – at least _that_ was still in place – and was amazed to find it wasn't so much as dented. With the way _his_ head felt, he thought, it ought to be the shape of a smashed egg.

Beli stumbled to his feet and squinted. Immediately, he was on his guard. Where was he? Were those the Misty Mountains? What were they doing over _there_?

This was so not good. Here he was, in the relative open, who knew how far from home.

Head fuzzy through his headache, Beli put one hand on his axe and trotted forward. He saw a forest ahead. Not ideal, but it'd give him a little cover, until a search party came for him. With what passed with dwarves for stealth, Beli ducked under the first of the trees, and –

Fell to the ground, gurgling, an arrow through his throat. A few moments later, Beli was dead.

He really, really should have recognized the Mallorn trees.

. + \ s . 8 = . . 2

**Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star**

For many long years, the star had watched the peoples of Middle-earth. Elves sang to the stars, but never to it. Maiar studied the stars, but never it. Men marched under the stars, but did not find their way by it. Hobbits occasionally enjoyed the stars, but were usually too busy eating to notice it. Orcs . . . well, who cared about Orcs?

It was time, the star decided, that something was done about this horrible neglect. So one night it leapt out of its socket in the sky and shot toward Middle-earth, shouting and laughing at the exhilaration.

It fell into Mirrormere. You can still see its reflection there, sometimes, day and night. But that's only because light takes so long to travel, and the star traveled ever so much faster. Now, it's nothing more than a cinder at the bottom of the lake. Soon, it won't even be that.

. ( . ) . ( . ) .

**The Fabulously Beautiful, Wealthy, and Magical Witch Elsa**

Elsa was a fabulously beautiful, wealthy, and magical witch. That is, she was the kind of witch who practically fizzed real magic, not the kind of sleight-of-hand which magicians practice. She had powers of which the MacBeth witches would be jealous. She had powers at which Harry Potter would say, "Huh?" She had powers beyond the dreams of anyone who had never dreamed of such powers.

And yet, Elsa was not content.

"I'm fabulously beautiful, wealthy, and magical," Elsa would sigh to her mirror. "So why am I not happy?"

The mirror, who was a magic mirror, hazarded, "You listen to Britney Spears songs?"

Elsa considered this. "No," she said. "That can't be it. Try again."

"How many tries do I get?"

Elsa glared.

"All right, all right, I'm thinking. Are you unhappy because you turned your best friend into a frog and dropped her into a deep well and filled the well with cement and danced on her grave?"

Elsa considered this. "Nah," she decided. "That was fun."

"Then are you sad because made your father stuff your mother in the fire and then ate your mother while your father watched and when he objected ate him also, while he was still alive?"

"That was a long sentence," Elsa said. "But even your long sentences aren't what make me sad. I don't understand it. I feel so unfulfilled. Tell me what to do, magic mirror, or I'll smash you."

"You should go to Middle-earth," the mirror suggested, in a bout of brilliance.

"What a bout of brilliance that is," said Elsa. "I'll do that." She whipped up her fabulously magical witch powers and sent herself to Middle-earth, right into King Aragorn's court. "All hail me," Elsa cried, "for I have magical powers and will kill your king if you disobey. See my magic!" She raised her hands and incanted a spell.

Nothing happened.

Elsa tried again.

Still, nothing. "I don't understand!" Elsa wailed. "You must die!" She rushed at the king. Behind her, a guardsman fired his bow. Thus ended Elsa.

. * 3 . = . -0


End file.
